Page 99 of Ripple Effect

“Hell fucking no, we aren’t,” Elio mutters, not bothering to turn from his post.

“No, Gracie, we’re not,” I correct in a mocking voice, lobbing an oven mitt at my boyfriend’s back. “But thank you for asking.”

“Right, what she said.” Elio snorts a laugh. “What are your plans, Gracie?”

“I’m heading back to Virginia,” she says, seemingly lost in the thought of home. “Mom’s already pestering me about the tree. We always go out to the woods to cut our own.”

“That’s a sweet tradition.” I stir my tea, pushing around the frothy cream on top before taking a sip. “I’m just staying here on campus, I think.”

Elio looks up from the bacon he’s plating, brow raised in question. “Same here,” he says with a grin. “But I’ll spend Christmas with the family. You should come with me, Daisy.”

The invitation surprises me. The thought of meeting his parents is both exciting and nerve-racking all at once. I know he just met mine, but I can already tell that the experience will pale in comparison.

“Really?” I ask, hesitant. “Are you sure your parents won’t mind? I know you already have a full house.”

“Trust me, my mom will be over the fucking moon to have you there. I’ll call her right now, and you’ll see.”

The look in his eyes is so sincere, so full of warmth, that it’s hard not to believe him. I feel Gracie’s gaze on me, and when I glance over, she’s smirking. “Look at you two,” she teases. “Already planning all your holidays together.”

Elio simply rolls his eyes, pulling out his phone from the pocket of his sweats. He quickly dials a number, waiting for the person on the other end to pick up. As he talks, his face lights up.

“Ma,” he says in an affectionate tone. “I was wondering how you felt about me bringing my girlfriend home for Christmas?”

I strain my ears to catch bits of the conversation, curious about her response. Elio’s smile widens, confirming my suspicion that his mother is indeed thrilled. But then, something shifts. His brow furrows, his posture changes, and his relaxed demeanor fades.

“No, wait, what are you talking about?” Elio’s voice rises, laced with confusion and frustration. “High school friend? Ma, I haven’t spoken to him in ages. You told him where Ilive?”

Gracie and I exchange a concerned look, both of us trying to piece together the puzzle. Without another word, he abruptly stands and heads for the door, leaving us alone in the apartment.

Silence settles between Gracie and me, our earlier happy mood completely shattered. “What do you think that was about?” Gracie asks, her voice a hushed whisper.

“Not a clue,” I say, mind racing with possibilities.

It feels like an eternity before the front door finally opens, revealing a visibly shaken Elio. He looks worn, as if he’s aged years in mere minutes. He runs a hand through his tousled hair, taking a deep, shaky breath.

“Hey,” he starts, eyes meeting mine, filled with an emotion I can’t quite place. “I’m sorry, I think I need to go.”

I stand from the table, slowly moving toward him. “What, why? What happened?”

He swallows thickly, looking away for a second. “It’s, uh, nothing too serious. I think. Just something I need to take care of.”

I nod slowly, allowing him to take me into his arms, our faces close together. He plants a tender kiss against my temple, a goodbye for the time being. Then he steps away, strides determinedly out of the kitchen, and just like that, he’s gone.

Gracie and I look at each other, but neither of us can say a word. It’s obvious he’s downplaying the severity of whatever just happened.

Dread bubbles up inside of me, fueled by uncertainty.Why didn’t he want to confide in me? I know he has a habit of shouldering burdens alone, but I thought we’d moved beyond that. That we’d become partners, facing our challenges side by side.

But if he needs his space, I suppose I should grant it. I just have to trust that he’ll come to me when the moment’s right, when he’s ready for it.

* * *

Aside from a quick “talk later”on Sunday night, Elio leaves the rest of my messages on Read for two long days. My attempts to reach him are fruitless, and I’m left to fret over the mystery of that phone call on my own. Finally, late Wednesday night, he finally picks up.

“Hey, Daze,” he says, his voice somber.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried. I didn’t know if it was your heart, or your family, or—”

“I know, and I’m sorry for that.” He sighs heavily into the receiver. “I just needed to take some time to think things through. Figure out if dredging up the past was a good idea or not.”

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